Stephen Deas - The Thief-Takers Apprentice

‘Remember, lad, what I said about staring at a lady?’

Berren nodded vigorously.

‘You’ve been doing it ever since you came down the stairs. Time to stop now. And lad?’

‘Master?’

‘Close your mouth, too.’

He led them out of the yard. For once they didn’t go down the alley into Weaver’s Row but the other way, the way Master Sy had brought Berren on their first night, out into the Courts District and through to the Avenue of Emperors. A gentle breeze was blowing in across the river tonight, wafting over the top of The Peak, picking up all the scents of early evening fires. Roasting nuts, skewered meats cooked over hot coals, spiced rats baked in clay, a city delicacy ever since the siege. The sour smell of Clothmakers’ down the hill, whiffs of smoke from the braziers on the Godsway, fresh wood wafting out of Cabinetmakers’ Cloister across the street. Other parts of the city smelled more mundane, but around The Peak where everyone had money, even the air itself was an adventure. Sometimes a ship or a barge would come in loaded with fruit to bring some new scent to the night air; always, by the next morning, everything would smell of fish again.

As the Avenue of Emperors levelled out and began to open out into the expanse of the sea-docks, the thief-taker turned under an ornate metal arch and into a secluded square, overgrown with trees. There were men here, Berren realised, watching them. The sort of men he usually saw on the top of Reeper’s Hill, waiting outside the carriages. Cloaked and hooded, they had a poised, coiled menace to them. These ones had long curved cavalry swords left over from the war, held loose and naked in their hands as they lounged against the walls and in the shadows of the arch-ways. Snuffers. Berren stared with a mixture of envy and admiration. Master Sy wouldn’t approve, but they were the way he wanted to be. They looked dangerous.

Master Sy wrinkled his nose. He walked straight through the middle of the square to the other side. Suddenly Berren found himself standing on the threshold of the most magnificent building on the dockside, possibly the whole world, certainly the whole world as far as Berren had seen it. This, he knew, without even having to ask, was the fabled Captains’ Rest, the finest tavern in the city, grander even than Teacher Garrent’s moon temple. It called itself something different, a loggia, or some other fancy foreign word, but a tavern was what it was and everyone had heard of it.

Master Sy looked him up and down, straightening a fold in his clothes here, brushing away a fleck of dirt there. He spoke sternly: ‘Look around you, both of you. Everyone who comes in here has money, a lot more money than us. Watch the way they act, the way they dress. Listen to the way they talk. See if any of them strike you as unusual.’ He glowered at Berren. ‘And whatever you do, don’t steal anything.’ Then he smiled at Lilissa, took her arm again and led them to the door.

The entrance to the Captains’ Rest was a gaping archway that looked more like the portal to a castle or a temple. Two more snuffers stood on guard, these ones in fancy uniforms that matched the arms carved into the arch’s crest; they frowned at Berren as he followed his master. Beyond the arch lay another square yard, open to the sky and larger than the first. A wild variety of plants filled the place – scented and flowering bushes scattered around a handful of small trees. Several different ivies competed for domination of the walls. Paths wound around the yard, punctuated by little marble benches, barely large enough for two people to sit on at once. Berren saw at least a dozen colourful birds, perched in the trees and around the walls. A low hum of conversation filled the air. The effect made Berren think he’d walked into the exotic palace garden of some faraway kingdom.

‘Copied from the garden at the Watchman’s Arms,’ whispered Master Sy. ‘This is where sea captains and merchants come to make their business.’ Lilissa’s eyes darted from one thing to the next, wide with wonder.

‘It’s like a palace!’ said Berren.

Master Sy nodded. He pointed to their left. ‘Those are the private rooms and lodgings. Only guests are allowed inside there.’ He gestured ahead. ‘That leads to the grand hall. They won’t let us in there either. It’s where the Guild of Sea Captains and Traders meets. But over here…’ He turned right down a path, so crowded by greenery that it brushed Berren’s legs as he walked. ‘Anyone can come here. This is where the food halls are, and the baths, and… various other diversions.’

From the way he said it, Berren knew that diversions meant women. Over the time he’d been Master Sy’s apprentice, he’d noticed that the thief-taker became strangely clumsy and fumbling on the few times he spoke on the subject, particular when Lilissa was around. Berren, on the other hand, had grown up with Master Hatchet, near the bottom of Reeper Hill. He’d lived one door away from Club-Headed Jin’s whorehouse and he’d already seen about as much as there was to see. He’d begun to suspect that on this one subject, he might actually know more than his master.

He glanced at Lilissa again. Maybe he did know more than Master Sy, but he still didn’t know nearly as much as he would have liked.

The thief-taker led them out of the gardens onto a sheltered veranda and then into a wide hall. The delicious scents of food laced the air. Paintings and hangings lined the walls. Berren remembered that he was still ravenous.

‘Master? Did it used to be a palace?’ he asked.

‘No. But the Guild of Sea Captains and Traders has a lot of money, and the guild-master likes to think himself something of a king. Now remember what I said, boy, and be quiet. And guard your eyes, both of you.’

Berren still stared at everything he saw. Uniformed servants intercepted Master Sy, speaking in hushed whispers. Other men and women wandered through the hall, dressed in silks and satins laced with gold and silver and decked with jewels. Even in his wildest dreams, Berren had never imagined that so much wealth could exist. The ten emperors awarded to Master Sy, such an immense fortune not all that long ago, now seemed paltry. It might have bought a shirt, or perhaps a hat, for people like these. Might have.

He stayed close to his master, almost afraid of what would happen if he were to get lost. Everywhere he looked there was a new wonder. Even the air smelled of gold. No hint of rotting fish here, only the damp scents of flowers and incense and the occasional heady waft of Lilissa. She was wearing perfume, something that must have cost her more than a fishmonger’s son could ever afford. Maybe she’d bathed, too, in the marble public baths up near Deephaven Square.

He tried not to think about that, but it was impossible. He lost track of where they were. Thoughts raced inside his head, passing through each other, clouding out everything else. Lilissa. Perfume. Baths. Money. Master Sy.

He stopped, frozen for a second. Lilissa and Master Sy? No, it couldn’t be. Could it?

The servants led the way through a wide doorway – the handles on the doors were made of gold – and into a cosy dining hall. Perhaps half a dozen small tables stood around the room, all of them occupied. A buzz of voices filled the air. Berren could see at once that this room, and the people in it, were not as rich as the rest. It showed in their clothes. As for the hall, he could tell by the plainness of the wooden tables and chairs and the gaudiness of the curtains and the paintings on the walls. The servants left. Master Sy picked his way across to a table where a man sat on his own. The man was unusually fat, with rolls of flesh hanging from his neck and under his face. Berren disliked him at once. Fat meant rich.